


Everything Is Fine

by drwhorose



Series: With You [2]
Category: True Detective
Genre: Bathtub Sex, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hand Jobs, M/M, Marty can’t deal, Nightmares, Porn with Feelings, Rust gets creative, porn with enough plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:27:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23203939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drwhorose/pseuds/drwhorose
Summary: "Marty,” Rust choked, “quit playing around.”Marty kissed the corner of his mouth, enjoying the scratch from his facial hair. “Can’t help it if you’re fun to play with.”*Rust gets inspired. Marty makes amends.
Relationships: Rustin "Rust" Cohle/Martin "Marty" Hart
Series: With You [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1668223
Comments: 8
Kudos: 34





	Everything Is Fine

**Author's Note:**

> I originally posted as a chapter but realized these little posts are better as separate works in a series.

_Marty can’t move, his arms stiff and frozen. A puddle of red soaks Rust’s abdomen, the blood covering him like a blanket. He’s been here before, he’ll be here again and again. Reaching out, Marty urges his hand toward Rust’s wounds, but he can’t make contact, can’t get his body to move and cooperate._

_A hand is on his back, fingers splayed and palm outstretched. A warm comfort in this frozen moment of despair. Gentle words coax him to leave this memory behind, even though it’s forever carved into his mind and soul._

Marty woke up panting, sweat beading his forehead and neck. The bedroom was dark and chilly, but his bed was warm. Rust was beside him, holding him in his arms, speaking softly into his ear. 

“I’ve got you, Marty. Everything is fine.” His voice was like honey, slow and sweet. The deep tone melted the tension in Marty’s shoulders.

Nightmares again. Marty and Rust never talked about them in the light of day. They didn’t acknowledge the frequent disturbances of sleep, the way they kicked and knocked into each other while fighting their demons and monsters. One night Marty left a bruise on Rust’s thigh that stayed purple and blue for a week. Rust seemed to pay it no mind, but it bothered Marty, and he’d insisted on pressing gentle kisses on the purple blooms that adorned his firm muscled leg each night until they faded. 

Marty sucked in air, filling his belly with breath while gentle words poured from Rust’s lips as he stroked his back. He wanted to say thank you, but he feared it would only come out as a sob. So he stayed quiet and still and let Rust comfort him. 

“Everything is fine.”

Marty nodded against Rust’s chest. He wanted to believe him, and Rust was pretty damn convincing of most things. When he spoke, Marty had learned to listen instead of being quick to judge and scoff.

“Don’t think I can get back to sleep.” Marty shifted his head, pressed a kiss over Rust’s heart.

“I’ll make coffee.” Rust stroked the back of Marty’s head, kissing where his hair was thinnest. He threw on one of Marty’s flannels, didn’t bother to button it, and slipped on a pair of jeans. Then he grabbed a band off the nightstand and tied back his wild mane into something manageable.

More than anything, Marty would have loved a lazy day at home with Rust. But he had a new case waiting for him at the office from a client who insisted on a mid-morning interview. She was willing to pay top dollar, so Marty couldn’t say no. Rust was the least expensive person to live with, he didn’t want for much, but Marty liked these high paying assignments. Extra savings in the bank, a way to keep Rust from tending bar. If Rust wanted to work, Marty was more than happy to share cases with him now that he was back on his feet. Marty would share it all with him: the money, the cases, the house, whatever Rust wanted. He’d tell him so eventually. If it ever came up.

“Better put it in a thermos,” Marty called as he grabbed a towel for his shower. 

Rust padded down the hall. “You heading out in a hurry?”

“Got a meeting with a client this morning, and I wanna get to the office to review the files beforehand.”

Rust studied him, tugging on the towel with a playful gleam in his eyes. Marty hadn’t bothered to get dressed since he needed a shower, anyway. Didn’t think his old, worn body would set a fire in Rust’s stare. 

“Save some energy for later on then.”

“I can do that.” Marty winked and pulled the towel out of Rust’s fingers. Ever since they started sharing a bed, life was like a honeymoon without the wedding. Glorious. “You gonna keep busy today?”

Rust nodded. “I’ve got some plans. Errands. Things to take care of around the house.”

“You okay to drive?”

“I ain’t drinking, Marty. Besides, the occupational therapist cleared me to drive.” Rust clenched his jaw. “Don’t worry over me.”

“Old habits I guess.” A pang of guilt hit his chest. He needed to let Rust be, but he wasn’t sure how. He stepped over the threshold of the bathroom and kissed a sharp cheekbone. 

Rust’s face softened a little. “Better get in that shower quick before I join you.”

“I would most definitely be late for that meeting.” Marty rubbed the scruff on his jaw. “Still gotta shave, too.”

“It’s a damn shame you have to work so early, but I suppose I’ll manage.” Rust gave a light slap to Marty’s backside and walked away.

Marty rubbed his ass and grinned. Even a light tap from Rust left a mark but he always made up for it later. He knew how to put his mouth to good use aside from talking, how to soothe the burn with tender licks and kisses. Marty was half-hard thinking about it.

A cold shower today or Marty would never make it to the office.  
  


***

Marty returned home in the late afternoon. Knots riddled his shoulders. This new case weighed heavily on him, and he regretted being in a hurry to get to work so early this morning. He’d unload, undress, and take a nap in bed so he’d have plenty of energy for Rust tonight.

The house reeked of chemicals, the strong odor hit Marty’s nose the moment he opened the front door. “Rust?”

Silence answered him, but Rust wasn’t one to shout around the house. Marty heard a bump from the master bedroom so he picked up the pace and headed that way.

Drop cloths covered the bedroom floor. The furniture was several feet away from the walls. A long white sheet draped over the bed. Blue, black, gray, and white paint cans sat on the floor. Rust, in nothing but his jeans, dipped a roller into the deep blue paint and covered the bare white walls. He had already finished painting two of the walls, an artistic blend of color, like a midnight blue sky or ocean waves. 

“Uh, Rust?” Marty’s bones were tired. He set a hand on the bed, wishing he was in it. “What in the hell are you doing?”

Rust set down the roller and turned around. He had streaks of blue and white on his forehead, shoulders, and chest, like beautiful war paint. Marty might have been able to appreciate the way the colors accentuated the curve and cut of Rust’s muscles if he wasn’t so damn exhausted. Had he agreed to Rust painting the room when he was half-asleep one night? Or maybe Rust had brought it up when they had been rolling around in bed last night when Marty was too excited to think about anything but Rust: the way his body moved or how his eyes sparked after Marty pushed his way inside. Anything was possible, but this seemed to come out of nowhere.

“What’s it look like I’m doing?” Rust pressed his lips in a tight line.

“I was fixing to take a nap when I got home. Like I always do.”

“You can’t sleep here. The fumes ain’t good for you.” Rust picked up the roller and added more color to the wall.

“I’m just wondering, and maybe you can help me out, but why in the fuck are you painting my bedroom today?”

“Why not today?” Rust dipped the roller again. “And I thought it was our bedroom,” he added softly.

Marty did not have the energy for any of this right now. Not with the case spinning in his head, the paint fumes burning his nostrils, and sleep tugging at his eyelids. “Fuck this. I can’t deal, Rust.”

He stormed out of the bedroom, tugging off his tie and jacket. With a grunt, Marty collapsed onto the living room couch and let sleep take him under.

***

Marty woke up a few hours later. The house was damp, making him shiver. He strained to listen for any sign of Rust, but all he could pick up were paint fumes wafting down the hall, torturing his senses. Goddamn crazy bastard. Marty shook his head and stood. He stretched his arms and went straight for the bedroom. 

Rust had finished the job. The drop cloths, paint cans, and supplies were gone without a trace. Streaks of dark blue and gray and white adorned the walls. A silver moon hung over the bed. And stars. Each bright light cut through the dark blue, and Marty could imagine Rust taking his time, adding every little detail, making something so beautiful for them to share. It was fucking gorgeous. A sense of peace filled him as he took it all in, and he exhaled slowly. This looked like a damn fine place to sleep and share his bed. Not tonight because the odor could have choked him in the few minutes he stood there. But he looked forward to wrapping himself around Rust here tomorrow night.

Now he just had to find Rust. 

Marty checked every room in the house but they were all empty so he hustled to the back patio. Rust had basically lived out there when he was at his worst. The Louisiana heat was like another form of therapy for him. Marty had bought nice cushiony furniture for him to soak up the sunshine while he restored himself.

Rust sat on the patio chair with a plume of smoke encircling his head. Marty recognized his flannel hanging loosely on Rust’s shoulders, and at this point, he might as well give him the damn thing to keep as his own. Long fingers clutched the hem of the shirt.

“The case I’m dealing with, it’s not an easy one.” Marty didn’t know where else to begin, and he sure as shit didn’t want to say how the case made him feel, but he hoped Rust would respond. 

He hated how small Rust seemed in the chair, folded in on himself, a wounded look in his eyes. He hated even more that he’d been the one to hurt him. That he hadn’t been patient or gentle. Rust could’ve been angry with Marty for waking him on account of that nightmare so early this morning. Instead, he had held him, poured something that felt a hell of a lot like love from his chest with his reassuring words. And Marty was the dickhead who couldn’t see all that Rust was trying to give him.

“Anything I can help with?” Rust turned and met his eyes. His forehead was still stained with paint. He took another drag from the cigarette. His eyes were bleak and tired.

“It’s an infidelity case. The client suspects her husband is cheating with a younger woman. She started crying in the middle of the interview, kept touching her wedding ring like it was something precious.” He didn’t have to spell it out. Rust already knew why these particular cases hit him hard. All those years of stepping out on Maggie with young women wasn’t easily assuaged. Marty didn’t usually dwell on the past, but the past had a way of turning up like a bad penny.

Rust hummed in response and put out his cigarette. “I can track him for you.”

“It’s not that. I know where to find him. Hell, I was him.” Marty didn’t want to add anything else. This was too much as it was.

“So, about the bedroom,” Rust paused and rested his thumb against his chin.

“I was an asshole. Past my breaking point exhausted, and all, but you did good. It looks fucking great.”

Rust arched an eyebrow. “You think so?”

“All those stars look pretty lovely, and that shade of blue is nice and relaxing. I might have preferred you tell me your plans first, but—”

“Well, then it wouldn’t be a surprise.” Rust winked. “I’ve been meaning to thank you, find some way to show how much you mean... Thought maybe it would help with our nightmares, too. But yeah, I could have warned you. I had a vision of what to paint, and it moved me. I had to take action while it was fresh in my mind.”

Marty felt like the world’s biggest asshole. “Rust, I—”

“No, let me finish. I should’ve considered how it would affect you. It’s your house, and I didn’t have the right. Guess I was trying to leave my mark, got a little territorial and primal, I must admit.”

“Well, yeah, you disrupted my routine. You’re perceptive as fuck, and you’re well aware that I pass out after I come home from work every day.”

Rust stroked his jaw. His eyes were fixed on something in the distance. Marty didn’t know if he was having visions again or if he was simply admiring the trees. No matter how much time they spent together, there was plenty that Marty would never know about him.

“But fuck routines.” Marty wanted to grab Rust’s jaw, make him meet his eyes but he stayed put. “I had one for years, a lonely and pathetic schedule of isolation, and it was god awful.”

Rust stood. “I might take a walk. Need to move a little. Bones are getting achy with these damp and humid days. Feels like a storm wants to roll through.”

The patio light cast shadows on him, and Marty glimpsed the blue paint that remained on his chest. The need to touch that beautiful skin surged through Marty, so he walked over to him, moved in close enough to smell the sweat and paint on Rust’s body. That man was something rough and wild, and he should let him go for that walk so he could clear his head, but it was Marty’s turn to show his appreciation. “I can get you moving a little.”

A hint of a smile tugged the corners of Rust’s mouth. “I imagine so.”

“I’d like to get you in the tub,” Marty kissed a stubbled jaw, “wash that paint off you.” 

Rust grabbed a fistful of Marty’s ass, pressed his mouth against the shell of his ear. “I’d like to see you try and move me.”

Marty nodded, jutting out his chin. “Oh, it’s on.”

Rust puffed out his chest and folded his arms, and Marty was having none of that. 

“You may be taller and more muscular, Rustin Cohle, but never underestimate a stocky man on a mission.” 

He was going to strip him and get him in that tub if it was the last thing he did. Marty tugged at Rust’s arms to loosen them and then he dropped to his knees. He undid the button fly and dragged the jeans to rest under the deep creases at his hip bones. Rust shivered when Marty traced a finger along that perfectly sharp v, stopping to nose the graying thatch of hair at his groin. He inhaled the wonderful musk that was pure Rust, and heat pooled in his belly.

“Marty, what will the neighbors say?” Rust widened his eyes and smirked.

“Get in the house then.” Marty lifted his head and kissed the taut skin at his navel. “Before I get too busy here.”

Rust ran his fingers over Marty’s head, massaging his scalp. “Last one to the tub’s a rotten egg.”

Marty boosted himself to stand and pulled open the door. Rust squeezed in behind him, smacking him on the backside. They raced to the bathroom, Marty wheezing from paint fumes while Rust carried on unbothered. Rust’s pants had wriggled down to his ankles, exposing his round ass, and Marty could get used to his new habit of foregoing underwear. Marty turned on the tap, letting hot water hit the porcelain and steam fill the room.

“Sounds like a damn waterfall in here.” Rust slipped off Marty’s flannel, letting it drop to the floor.

“That looks good on you.” Marty picked up the shirt. “Reckon you should keep it from now on.”

Rust leaned in and unbuttoned Marty’s dress shirt, tossing it. “I’ll just borrow your shirt from time to time.” He undid the trousers and tugged down black briefs. “Only reason I wear it is, well, it smells good. Smoky like a bonfire but crisp and fresh like grapefruit. Reminds me of you.”

“Didn’t realize I smelled like that.” Marty turned off the water and dipped his hand. “Water’s nice and warm. Get in.”

Rust stepped into the tub, huddled his knees to his chest after he sank into the water. “Plenty room for one more.”

Marty didn’t need to be told twice. He grabbed a few washcloths and a bar of soap. “Gotta get that paint off you.”

“I can do it.” Rust reached for the soap, but Marty shoved his hand away.

“Let me.” Marty lathered the washcloth with soap and wiped away the blue and white on his forehead first. “Stubborn.”

Rust watched him in silence, deep blue eyes following the washcloth in Marty’s hand. Even at physical rock bottom, Rust never let Marty bathe him before. He always stood in the shower alone, using grab bars that Marty had installed while Marty prayed behind the curtain under his breath that he wouldn’t slip and crack his head.

Marty dipped the washcloth into the tub to rinse off the soap, leaving oily blue swirls in the bathwater. “Looking better already.”

Rust rolled his eyes, but then he smiled, and Marty was so damn blessed to be the only one to see him like this. Marty scrubbed Rust’s shoulders next, taking his time to soothe aching muscles, and then he dragged the washcloth over Rust’s chest, watching the blue and white mix, lighten, and fade in streaks down his torso. 

He felt Rush sigh against him, a moan in his throat. “Feels nice.”

Marty dropped the cloth, let it float and bob in the water beside them. He grabbed a hold of Rust and caught his mouth in a kiss. Rust’s fingers were at his neck, stroking a path to his shoulders. Marty could do him one better, letting his hands roam down Rust’s back to plunge under the water so he could squeeze his ass. Rust groaned into his mouth, his grip tightened on Marty’s shoulder. 

Marty broke the kiss and moved his hands underwater to grab hip bones instead, traced a path over firm muscles until he could grasp Rust’s dick, which was half-hard. “Getting excited?”

“What are you gonna do about it?” Rust nipped at Marty’s lower lip.

Marty knew exactly what he wanted to do. Wasn’t sure he had the flexibility to get it done right in the bathtub without breaking his back but for now, all he really wanted was to make Rust come. And once he wanted something, he made damn sure it happened.

The water helped Marty along as he started stroking Rust’s length, making him stiffen in his hand. 

“Oh,” Rust gasped, back arching.

Marty moved his other hand to rest on Rust’s back, to help hold him in place so the water wouldn’t shift him around the tub. He kept up the pace on Rust’s dick, squeezing the tip and then teasing him with feather-light touches down to the root. Rust squirmed beside him, sighs and moans pouring out of him like a sensual symphony that stoked the fire in Marty’s loins. 

“Fuck, Marty,” he choked, “quit playing around.”

Marty kissed the corner of his mouth, enjoying the scratch from his facial hair. “Can’t help it if you’re fun to play with.”

Rust gripped the back of Marty’s neck, his hand tight as a vice. Marty’s breath caught in his throat. It was unnatural how strong Rust was after all the shit he’d been through. 

Marty got back to the rhythm that Rust always responded to best, rubbing his thumb over the silky crown while he pumped his length. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Rust’s chin tilt toward the ceiling, his jaw loosening. Marty dove his other hand under the water and tugged at his balls. That was all it took, and Rust was shuddering against him, coming with a thrust of his hips and a grunt that seemed to emanate from his belly.

“So good,” Rust growled into Marty’s neck. “Not sure if I can stand up after that.”

Marty kissed the side of Rust’s face, nosing his hair, and then reached over to pull the drain from the tub. “I’ll help ya.”

Hooking an arm around Rust, Marty lifted him to stand in the tub. He was heavier than he looked, but it was worth the twinge in his back. Rust still needed him, and it was a goddamn honor to be the only one he trusted. 

They got out of the tub carefully, and Marty grabbed some towels from the linen closet, handing one to Rust. “Where do you think we should sleep tonight?”

Rust wrapped the towel around his waist, beads of water spotting his arms and stomach. “Think we can squeeze into my old bed?”

The full-size in that tiny room came to mind. It would be cramped, but there wasn’t anyone else he’d rather be pressed against tonight. Marty toweled off and smiled. “Sure we can.”

Marty opened the bathroom door, and a rush of cold air hit his face. “I’m gonna heat up some dinner for us. I’ll bring you some clothes, got chilly in the house.”

He didn’t wait for Rust to answer, closing the door behind him to keep out the draft. Marty headed for the master bedroom and stopped in his tracks when he caught another glimpse of Rust’s mural. It really was something breathtaking to behold, somehow even more hypnotic with the moonlight glowing through the windows. He opened the closet and grabbed sweatpants and a t-shirt from Rust’s side, figuring he wouldn’t want socks or underwear. After shutting the closet door, he noticed silver words painted in a loopy beautiful script, a few inches above the floor. Marty kneeled to get a closer look: ‘a light in the dark, for my Hart.’

He bit his lower lip and pinched the bridge of his nose, keeping the tears that threatened to spill at bay. With a grunt, he stood to open the closet again and started digging around. His fingers brushed past a soft flannel that he’d worn once and put back without washing, and he chose it for Rust. 

Marty studied the swirl of stars painted on the walls one more time before leaving the bedroom. He’s been here before. He’ll be here again and again. Everything is fine.

THE END of PART TWO

**Author's Note:**

> I was inspired to add another part of my post-canon domestic goodness series. I still have a few more ideas. Hoping to write more during this strange time. My best way of coping has been writing and knowing I can share this with you. Thank you to the readers. You keep me going.


End file.
